The Indigo Stage
by Satellites on Parade
Summary: Upon returning to Koriko to complete the final stage of her training, Kiki finds she must choose between her magic and Tombo Kopori, for she cannot keep one without losing the other. Kiki/Tombo.
1. Prologue

**Hi, there! For those of you who don't know me, of which I'm sure there are many, I'm DannysGhostWriter, and I've dared to dabble in this amazing fandom (the first one I ever really followed, except **_**Pokémon**_**). **

**I do hope you'll enjoy my story and give me some lovely reviews. Constructive criticism is cool – I can deal with it easily! In fact, I appreciate it.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Kiki's Delivery Service **_**is the sole property of Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli, and Eiko Kadono. I claim no ownership to the characters, locations, or anything else, except the story.**

–

Tombo Kopori would count the stars every night, and he liked to imagine that he and Kiki could see each other through them.

He remembered the day she'd left; how she was so flustered and quavering and how her skirt fluttered bravely against the seaside winds. It was twelve days, five hours, and thirty-three minutes after his fourteenth birthday. She'd come to his party, and when no one was looking, the two of them had stolen out into the gazebo in his backyard and he'd made a hand-shaking, cheek-burning attempt to kiss her (he'd missed). The night had been impossibly clear; it was like watching space through a piece of sharp glass. Kiki showed him the constellation of Leo, her zodiac sign. Tombo hadn't been watching the stars; he'd been watching her petal-soft cheeks as they made way for her moon-washed smile.

Almost everyone in Koriko had known that the day when Kiki would leave was bound to come, but none had wanted to deny it as much as Tombo. He spent every moment with her talking of aviation and rampant dreams, never once dwelling upon the possibility that after a year – a single, meager, feeble year – she would no longer be there to listen. To him, Kiki would always be in Koriko, and she'd always be lying next to him on the beach, counting his freckles and giggling.

Kiki left at sunset on a white-washed Friday in early summer. She would be taking off from the corner of Osono's bakery. The sky was a vibrant, ethereal pink as Kiki's closest friends lined the stone balcony to bid her farewell. Tombo was among them – along with Barsa and her mistress, Ursula, Ket and his mother, and, naturally, Osono. Jiji was grumbling to Kiki that sticking around for long good-byes would only make leaving more difficult, and that she should just get it over with and go. But Kiki had rested her broom against the cobblestoned balustrade and approached each of her tearful companions wordlessly, her infinitely enigmatic eyes downcast. She had given Osono the tightest hug of all, blurting out broken "thank you"s and scattered promises to write. When she came to Tombo, the others regarded the two children with unbearable sympathy, but Tombo paid them no heed, instead focusing his dazed, half-closed gaze on her sorrowfully drooping red bow and the moist rivulets twisting down her cheeks.

She held out her hand stiffly, not looking at him, as if planning on simply shaking hands and being on her way. Tombo's fingers twitched weakly, almost taking it, but he was surprised to find himself leaping forward and embracing her with a foolish, almost pathetic, amount of unbridled passion. It was in that instant that he realized he couldn't let her go; there was no force on earth that could make him release her and let her fly away—

"I'll write, Tombo," she mumbled, her fragile voice palpitating with the threat of sobs. "Really I will. Every… every… day…" She tangled her arms around him then, remembering how close they'd come to the ghost of a first kiss, remembering diving desperately after him as he fell from the dirigible, remembering the time he'd pedaled eagerly after her when she'd made her first grand, noisy entrance to Koriko. And, because she was a tender young girl of fourteen, unafraid of showing her sadness, she cried into his red-and-white striped shoulder that smelled of laundry soap and motor oil and pecans.

She stepped back, her hands clutching his imploringly, her cheeks the same pink as the slowly reddening sky. "You'll remember me, won't you?"

With an unfaltering certainty, he boldly answered, "always."

What happened next was always a blur to him, but after a moment he was standing a few feet behind the crowd as they waved her good-bye, and her deep indigo dress was billowing as she soared across the vast expanse of sea, and Tombo could not bring himself to raise a hand to wave or to shout out any parting words. Before long, she was nothing but a speck, then a glimmer, then a memory.

Osono had offered to make him some tea if he'd like, if he'd just come inside, but he walked away, not answering, taking hold of his bike and mounting it, pedaling furiously home, almost unblinking.

Kiki never sent him any letters.


	2. The Scarlet Stage

**Finally! An update! I think some of you were under the impression that the last chapter was a oneshot, but it most definitely was not. 'twas more of a prologue, in all honesty.**

**Anyway… enjoy! I promise things will start picking up soon!**

**Disclaimer: **_**Kiki's Delivery Service **_**is the sole property of Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli, and Eiko Kadono. I claim no ownership to the characters, locations, or anything else, except the story.**

–

Kiki had chosen a one-room log cabin in the middle of the woods far to the West. The trip had taken two days. Jiji and Zuzu had joined her. At the cabin, all time smelled of brisk, earnest rain. There was a bed worn into the wall that was covered by a taupe eiderdown quilt; a demure lilac lampshade, unused and abandoned, lay forlornly on the musty-smelling pillow. There was an iron-clad stove beside the bed.

She knew as she let her florid ballet shoe float over the threshold that she would be allowed to make no calls, to write no letters. This was the time of her isolation, the Ebony Stage of her training; she had to leave society and lose herself to the sheer white noise of her own solitude, and learn as much about herself – and, moreover, her magic – as she could.

"I like this place," Jiji stated frankly. "Nice and quiet."

"Hey Dad, how come we're out in the middle of nowhere?" Zuzu asked, his eyes protuberant.

"Better get used to it, Zuzu," Kiki muttered blankly. "For the next two years, it's home."

As the words spilled halfheartedly from her mouth, she felt a painful lump surge inexorably in her throat, and she had to swallow roughly to prevent it from making her cry.

"Don't be sad, Kiki," Zuzu implored, rubbing his head against her ankle. "It won't be that bad…"

"She just misses that kid with the glasses," Jiji grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Kiki, you can't let him interfere with your training, even if—"

"I know, Jiji; okay?" Kiki snapped, regretting it immediately. "I'm sorry; it's just… it's so… lonely out here."

"Exactly," Jiji replied evenly, hopping onto the bed. "A witch's magic can only be mastered if—"

"'If she spends two years of total isolation allowing it to consume her. I _know_, Jiji! We've been through this a hundred times!"

She sighed and gave up on arguing with her snarky cat, propping her broom against the wall by the bed and unslinging her bag from it to unpack. She pulled a multitude of things from it – spare clothes, toiletries, worn books of poetry, her mother's best candle, her father's radio, a tin of chocolates, and a framed sepia photograph of her and Tombo, taken moments after the dirigible accident. An impossibly wide, genuine grin was bursting from Tombo's face, and his short tufts of sandy hair were swaying in the sea air. He had his left arm hung casually over Kiki's shoulders, and his other hand was raised in a wave at the camera.

Kiki's short, dark locks were illuminated in the sunlight, and her eyes were glittering. Her hands held tightly to her upright broom. Jiji was scowling on her shoulder. Her visage was not as enthusiastic as Tombo's, but she was still smiling, softly and gratefully. Kiki remembered plummeting after him and feeling as though she were about to lose absolutely everything she had; everything she breathed for. The tears tearing across her wide-open eyes were not from the wind whipping into her face. She didn't care if she shattered into a million ragged pieces once she hit the ground, just as long as he didn't.

But even when all sound and color had suddenly bled from the world, even when she knew she was about to scream as loudly as she could, she felt her hand close tightly around his. After three seconds of a terror greater than anything she'd ever felt, she caught him, and they were floating down onto the firemen's trampoline, and he was safe. He was safe.

Kiki blinked sharply and a single, earnest tear splattered onto the photograph, just between Tombo's head and hers.

"Dad, she's doing it again!" Zuzu groaned loudly.

"Leave her alone, Zuzu," Jiji sighed, curling up on Kiki's now-empty bag. Sarcastically, he added, "she'll stop eventually."

"Kiki, why do you always cry when you look at that picture?" Zuzu asked, falling back on his rump and staring curiously at her.

"I… I just…" Kiki wiped her eyes furiously with the back of her fist, sniffling loudly. "I wish I'd… you know, written him before I left…"

"What?" Jiji screeched, leaping to his feet. "You mean you didn't _tell_ him that you couldn't communicate with him for the next two years? _How_ could you forget _that_?"

Kiki found herself unable to answer.

"Kiki," Jiji exclaimed, slack-jawed, "he's going to think—"

"I know," Kiki whispered, staring at the floor. "I know."

The days began to pass with surprising haziness. None of them seemed to remain in Kiki's memory for particularly long, Months seemed to go by in a matter of moments, but they were long moments; moments with no substance; motionless, monochrome moments. As the time progressed, Kiki's powers began to bubble and squirm inside of her, surging through her until they seemed to burst from her fingertips. There were days that she would speak only in a language she'd never heard, or draw peculiar symbols in the dirt outside. There were nights she would lay spread-eagled on the bed wearing nothing, gazing wordlessly at the ceiling, or sit unyielding before a crumpled candle, lighting it and putting it out again by merely blinking. She could tell Jiji was worried but still approved, encouraging her to work her hardest. Zuzu slept most of the time.

Kiki's hair grew longer and darker; her legs extended; her bosom began to swell slightly. There was no one to watch her change so drastically but her cats, and the oak tree outside her window. Her milky features became less dainty but still retained a certain mysterious prettiness.

Her fifteenth birthday passed without a word, then, vaguely, her sixteenth. Zuzu tried to make her a cake both times, but seeing as he was a cat, that failed to work out.

Sometimes, Kiki would sit down and write letters, saving them for the day she'd return home. What began as a few heartfelt leaflets soon turned into a cumbersome pile, tied together by pastel ribbons and bits of string. The time eventually came that Kiki's magic was a part of her rather than a possession, a hand rather than a glove, a lung rather than a breath. It was then that she knew she was finished with this stage of her training, and it was then that she knew she could depart.

In a dress she'd had to extend at least five times, and with her hair tied back with her beloved red bow, she floated out of the forest one day with Jiji and Zuzu as if she'd never been there and never would be again.

The letters felt oddly lightweight.


End file.
